These are a few of my favourite things
by NekoLuvsOrange
Summary: A series of one-shots revolving around the curse. Blue/Time
1. Blue

Blue

The first thing he noticed wasn't his large fur paw or the harsh growl that gritted his words; no, it was the fact that he had lost the colours of his world. There were no more green veins in the grey marble as he skidded and stumbled on his clawed feet. He could no longer see the red in the plush as his nails raked through the fibres of grey velvet trying to anchor his body upright. He glimpsed at the enchantress and found that through the glow he could no longer distinguish her features, although he was certain that she was smirking at him as she faded to into the dark castle. There was no more gold, no more red and no more green.

It was only now that he began to notice the other changes in his appearance, his hands that were gripping the chair were covered in fur, and his feet that were slipping underneath him were clawed. What else? He wondered. With one paw to steady him, he raked through hair to find more; he found his distorted snout, the sharpened points of his fangs, more hair, contours of his deadly horns, more hair. Panic and fear increased with his breathing as something in his throat growled; no, rather he growled as he feared that this was all too real. Is this real? Oh god, how much fur is there? How long are my horns? Do I really have horns? How bad is this? What have I become? How bad is this?

He tried to run, but as he continued to lose his balance his run became a slow crawl on hands and feet to the nearest mirror, which was in the drawing room. He had to look, to see how badly he had changed. Maybe it was a slight of hand? The enchantress only made him feel like this and when he would look in the mirror he would see his old self and his world would be coloured again…it just had to be. The drawing room took forever to get to, as his nails seized the door frame, he saw it, that thing, it was awful, those claws, the horns, hair, nose, fangs and his eyes lost in shadow; that wretched witch.

If the trip to the drawing room took forever, the hunt and destruction of every mirror until the west wing was so quick, even he couldn't remember how he got there or how many objects had been eradicated. He wanted to get away from this, shame and grief took over him and all he wanted to do was seal himself away from this world and, more importantly, himself, how could he escape all this?

His door was flung open to reveal his smug portrait. He looked out of his balcony as the canvas hung in shreds on the frame, out into his grey, dark world without being haunted by his eyes.

There was no more blue.


	2. Time

Time

Tick…tock…tick…tock…tic…tok…tic..tok..tic..tok..tic..tok..tic..tok..tic..tic..tic..

Placing one foot in front of the other, breathing, tock, sigh, rotate, pace, tick, sigh, rub of erosion off the nail at the bottom of his foot; the rapid pacing, breathing and ticking. The mantle clock was thinking he had just about enough for one day, if at all it had been one day, or even hours, years or minutes or … Tic … tic … tic.. tok .. tic .. tok .. tic ..

The silent mental infuriation ended abruptly in kicking the stair behind him, the sudden violence shocked the nearby candelabra from his depressed stupor. The clock could not understand how _static _in both mind and body, that candlestick could be, even in these circumstances; the candle just stared at him. The clock knew that this was unusual behaviour for someone of his stature, but with the constant pounding of thought in his head, he needed to do something to distract him from that train of thought. He muttered to the candle that he wanted to be alone, all he got was a nodded response. The clock then wandered down into an adjacent hallway.

Rubbing the gilded frame of his head was an excellent way to ease the tension in lieu of temples, the gold had flaked off years ago and was wearing down the copper underneath; it was now very malleable and dented easily. However considering the masters absolute 'adoration' of mirrors, it was hard to tell how tainted the appearance of the head of the household was. This was unacceptable, he was the example that the others should live by. If he could not achieve this, it would surely follow down through the ranks, cups unwashed, halls lined with dirt, rags decorating the halls in lieu of portraits, such presentation would be a disgrace in these halls and…tick…looking around already…tock…he was already living it

Tic..tok…tic…tok...tok..tic..tok..tic...tok.. The sounds stirring from inside him were doing nothing to help the panic, even one little discrepancy from the usual order sent the cogs in his head racing and this would always exacerbate the situation. Tick…tock…tick…tock…tick…tock…He tried to stop the whirls and eddies of previous thought, but it only began his reflection again. Just how had it begun?

Oh! That's right…tic…tok…tic..tok…that stupid candlestick had to take control of my jurisdiction and let in that man. He should not have come in. The master was firm about hospitality to strangers. Yes I knew it was cold and wet, and I knew that previous circumstances considering strangers at the castle doors should have cancelled out all queries of his hospitality, but to put it simply _he should have stayed clear away from the master and should have left the castle, having never been seen or heard by him. __The stables of all places would have been better, it wasn't furnished or very hospitable, but at least he could be __somewhat dry, warm and, most importantly, safe_.

Tic…tok…tic..tok..tic…tock…tic..tic..tic…tic… He could feel the gears grinding against each other, the second hand's axis was grating against a cog that, he knew, shouldn't be touching anything. Each second that the hand moved 'round his face meant that the metal teeth of one cog was hitting and wearing down the opposing cog. If this continued, the malfunction would wear down the teeth, the cog could slip and he would surely lose control of…Tick…he didn't want to think about it…tock

The clocks mind wandered back to the previous train of thought … in the end the Master had found the_…guest?… intruder?… no, the old man_; and proceeded to give him his personal hospitality. There was nothing we could do, the thick candle even explained it as best he could, and all I could do was my own selfish damage control. He really cannot listen, whether it be reason, logic or for mercy. What he want's is what he'll get, even if he'll regret it later. We were lucky in that respect, not to have a repeat of the past….Tick…tok…tick…tok…tok

Maybe it would have been better if the old gent was some sort of magician…tick… it would have been over now…tock… the girl has left…tic… it wasn't even worth remembering her name…tok… we should have seen this coming…tick… it was logical …tok… it would never have worked …tick… _but it gave us a wavering glimmer of false hope_…

She really can be stubborn, just like him. Despite orders being to withhold food until she ate with him, the girl had left her room and wanted food. Crusts of bread would have been easier to smuggle but a feast was what was in order and I, once again, was the bad person. Regretfully, I felt like I could enjoy it, rejoicing that we had not been caught…before my face was in the blueberry torte.

Tick-the-situation-tock-was-tick-always-tock-out-tick-of-my-tock-control…

He had prided himself for order, organization and presentation, his suit was neat, schedules were followed to the dot and his watch was always wound. But now, how could he even tell the time if he was one of the only working clocks in the house? Everyone else had it easy; they just had to look at him…tick… Sure he could ask, but the time he would be told would be seconds old…tock… and technically…tick… the wrong time…tock… Everyone relied on him and he couldn't even rely on himself… tick…tock…He brought his arm to the back of his head…tick-tock… to feel the key that kept him wound…tick-tock…the part that held the time…tick-tock and unlocked it

…

The silence that filled the room was unnerving, like feeling your neck and discovering that you couldn't find a beat, that you couldn't draw that next breath, feeling nothing, to be silent…he wouldn't be needed, he wouldn't be useful…

…he had no idea how long he had been there and almost didn't want to move his hand to the key, his movement was slow, as if waking up, he wound it three twists to the left and…

…he clicked the key down

Tick…

Tock…

Tick…

He heard the movement in the entrance hall, he observed the candle's frantic movements, and he understood that she had come back…

Then he remembered that he was incorrect…


End file.
